Consolation
by planet p
Summary: AU; Catherine really does have bad luck in relationships, among other things. F/F, F/M


_1954_

A day ago, she'd found their room mate dead on the floor. She'd slashed her wrists with a knife from the kitchens. It hadn't been a big knife, just a small one, small enough to hide and sneak away with, for later use, but it had done the job.

Catherine had woken up with the sun's rays on her face, thinking it would be a good day, a great day, even, because she'd felt rested, warm, content. And then she'd got out of bed and stepped into a pool of Morna's congealed blood. She'd nearly slipped and killed herself, too.

The funeral service would be in the morning, she'd been told. She couldn't even remember who'd told her. But she remembered that people had kept coming up to her, asking her how she was, how she felt, if she was okay. She hadn't said anything to any of their queries, not a single thing.

Now, it was dark. All she could think of was Morna's blood. Morna's blood had been dark, too; the blacks of her eyes like little holes through which something could peek out, but there hadn't been anything left in Morna's eyes to peek out: they'd been empty. Cold, black and empty. That was how Catherine felt now.

She was trying to sleep, but her body didn't want to cooperate. For one thing, her eyes kept stinging, so that she had to blink a lot, and her throat hurt, like there was a lump in it that wouldn't go away no matter how many times she swallowed. Then there was the emptiness of Morna's bed, and Harriet, Harriet who wasn't dead, Harriet who'd never been her best friend the way Morna had. Harriet, who she wished had died instead of Morna!

Harriet hadn't asked her how she was, if she was okay. Harriet didn't care, Harriet was horrible. Catherine even thought that she must have been made of stone inside, because Harriet hadn't even cried. Now, in the dark, Harriet was a monster. Harriet was the monster in the dark! And her footsteps were drawing nearer.

Harriet sat down on the edge of her bed, then she rose again, as if she'd changed her mind, and Catherine almost thought she'd lost her nerve and would go away, back to her own bed, and leave her alone, but that wasn't it, at all. Harriet hadn't lost her nerve. She stood up and Catherine could hear her footsteps again, only, this time, they were much closer, and accompanied by the sound of her breathing. And then there was Harriet's voice: uncertain, but not small, not frightened. "Cathy?"

Catherine didn't say anything. If she didn't say anything, Harriet would go away, she told herself. She kept telling herself this right up until the moment that Harriet sunk down onto the mattress beside her, right up until the moment Harriet's petite hand came to rest on her forehead, a sudden source of warmth in the cold room. "Cathy, are you okay? I know you're not sleeping. I- I can't sleep, either. I keep thinking of Morna, of what must have possessed her to do such a thing. I can't help thinking that we let her down, somehow, that she must have tried to say something to us, but we were too wrapped up in our own lives to see that... that she was suffering! I feel just awful! Cathy, please say something." Her voice rose near the end, then sort of broke. "I'm not okay!" she sobbed, suddenly, and the hand she'd placed on Cathy's forehead started to tremble. "I'm not okay at all! I think I may never be quite okay again! I'm scared! I'm so scared!"

Catherine didn't know why she did what she did next, but she did, all the same. For a moment, she thought of replying back, "Nonsense, Harriet, you're not scared one bit! Monster don't get scared!" but then she reconsidered. It had probably been that little wobble in poor Harriet's voice, she thought, much later; that had probably been it. But she'd sat up, all of a sudden, and Harriet had gasped.

It was dark in the room and Harriet's hand slipped from Catherine's head and came to rest in her lap. Harriet didn't move her hand from where it had fallen, but she made a soft gasp, and suddenly Catherine was so, so mad at her. So very mad at her! Images of Morna's lifeless body rushed through her head, and of Harriet, standing completely still with a look of mild surprise on her face at the sight of so much blood, and of Harriet, gasping a little gasp, as if belatedly realising what all of that blood meant, what Morna's lifeless staring eyes meant.

Catherine couldn't help it. She pounced on the other girl and threw her back onto the mattress, completely ignoring Harriet's stupid little squeal of horror, and set herself down on top of her. "You are a witch, Harriet!" she hissed, pressing her face up close to the other girl's, so that she could feel Harriet's quick, hot breaths on her cheeks. "A witch and a liar! You were always awful to Morna! You always just had to say something horrible to her! You never could get through the day without taking a jab! You killed her, Harriet! _You killed my friend!_"

She wasn't thinking straight then, because suddenly she found her hands around Harriet's neck, around her throat, and Harriet wasn't saying anything back, just making these funny little half-this and half-something else sounds that Catherine couldn't make any sense of. She squeezed her hands tighter, anger boiling inside her, and then it struck her fully what she was doing - Oh, God, she was going to kill Harriet! - and her grasp went limp, all of her went limp, and she fell down on top of Harriet, her breathing ragged.

Harriet didn't sob. It was Catherine who cried first, and it was Harriet who stroked her back consolingly, even though she'd been the one who'd nearly died, even though it was her who should have been receiving the consoling, not the other way around.

.

_1955_

A week ago, on a school outing, Catherine had met James. It hadn't happened all at once, that she had decided that she really quite liked him, but it _had_ happened. She'd thought that he seemed like a nice young man, and that he had interesting eyes. Yes, when she'd looked into his eyes, she'd seen the future there. Not just her own future, but an exciting, new world, a world filled with everything she'd been searching for for seventeen years. And so, right then and there, she had decided that she _would_ see James again - she would!

Tonight was the anniversary of Morna's death, but Catherine had forgotten all about that. She wasn't sad; tonight, she was happy. Thinking of James just made her happy. And then, there was Harriet, sitting on the side of her bed, right next to her, with a smile on her face. A smile Catherine didn't care for anymore. Not since she'd met James, at any rate. But Harriet wouldn't stop smiling, not even when Catherine sent her a little glare. Nothing could put out _her_ happy mood.

"I got you something!" she announced cheerfully, and Catherine could feel herself getting up and walking away, or pushing her away, right off the bed, onto the floor, with absolutely no remorse.

"I didn't get you anything," Catherine replied back in a cool voice.

Harriet tossed her chin as if to say, "It doesn't matter", and leant closer. Too close: Catherine leant away from her, but Harriet didn't seem to notice or care. "Close your eyes!" she whispered hotly in the other girl's ear.

Rolling her eyes and suppressing the urge to groan, Catherine closed her eyes. The next moment, she felt something being pressed into her hands. Something wrapped in gift wrap, something soft and flimsy, with hardly any weight to it at all. She snapped her eyes open but all she could see was the damn wrapping paper. "What is it, Harry?" she moaned, shooting Harriet a look that clearly said she wasn't in the mood for any of her games right now.

"Open it!" Harriet whispered, with eyes that sparkled just that bit too much, that made Catherine's stomach turn over.

Begrudgingly, Catherine opened the present. A gasp dropped from her parted lips. It was a shiny, red chemise and it was the most gorgeous thing Catherine had ever seen, the softest thing she'd ever laid her hands on, not barring Harriet's luxurious wavy hair. "It's gorgeous, Harry!" Her eyes darted to her friend's, now just as full of stars as hers.

"I thought you'd like it," Harriet entertained. "Let's see it then."

Catherine's enthusiasm dropped like a stone, dead and cold, to the floor. "I'm tired, Harry. I just want to sleep."

"It won't take a moment," Harriet replied back, meeting her eye expectantly.

Catherine made a little huff and sighed. "Alright, but you can't peek. That means turn your back. Now!"

With a soft laugh, Harriet did as she was told. When she turned back around, when Catherine had finally struggled awkwardly into the beautiful red chemise, so afraid of breaking it, Harriet gasped and threw out her arms. "Oh wow! You're a goddess!"

"Don't," Catherine told her, but Harriet wasn't listening.

She pulled Catherine into her arms and clung onto her, for a long moment, burying her face in her hair. "You're so beautiful, Catherine. I don't know why I didn't see it earlier. You're so beautiful - and you smell _divine_!" Her hand moved from Catherine's back to her backside, then to her leg, then up her leg, disappearing underneath the shiny, red material.

Catherine jerked back from her, smoothing her skirt down unnecessarily. "That's enough, Harriet! I'm putting a stop to this! It ends tonight! No more!"

Harriet laughed. "What do you mean, Cathy?" she asked playfully. "You're putting a stop to what?"

Tears stung at the back of Catherine's eyes and her cheeks burned red hot. "This! _Us!_ I don't care for you anymore! You make me want to be sick!"

Harriet stopped smiling. "You don't mean that," she returned seriously, her eyes darker than before. Then, when Catherine didn't reply to that and the silence stretched on, she said stiffly, "Say you don't mean it, Cathy!"

Catherine crossed her arms over her chest and stepped closer. "I mean it!" she breathed. Then, louder, "I mean it! I MEAN IT!"

Harriet's eyes widened and she stepped back, just kept stepping back until she fell back onto her own bed with a little thud, but she didn't get up again.

Catherine went back to her own bed, her face on fire, her chest heaving with anger and shame, but feeling satisfied. From now on, Harriet wouldn't be a problem. Harriet wouldn't ruin her future with dashing, dazzling James. She lay down and closed her eyes, thinking that she would like it if she dreamed of James.

She was woken, maybe an hour later, by the sounds of sobbing, and reached up her hands to cover her ears, but the horrible, pathetic, pitiful sound still came through, as though seeping through her very flesh, and she shot up and out of bed, a growl of anger lodged firmly in the back of her throat.

And then she spied Harriet, poor, sobbing Harriet, and the blood, the mess she'd made of her arms with no weapon at her disposal but her own fingernails, and she flew across the room, to Harriet's side, and fell down with a thud and started hitting her, just kept hitting her, until both girls were crying and their cheeks were wet with hot tears that had since gone cold, until Harriet pressed her lips to Catherine's and Catherine didn't know what else to do but to let Harriet back in, but to surrender, once more.

It was late, by then, and as Harriet's kiss became more urgent Catherine realised that the day must have ticked over, Catherine realised that it must have been their first anniversary as a couple (albeit a secret couple). In her little red chemise, she was cold cold, so she pressed herself closer to the only warm thing in the room, to Harriet, and Harriet held onto her just as tightly.

When Harriet's hands unlocked from around her back and strayed down her body, to the hem of her red chemise, Catherine had forgotten all about the cold. Harriet grabbed a hold of the hem of her chemise and lifted it up over her head, and Catherine didn't even care when she didn't fold it neatly and place it somewhere out of harm's way. She didn't even care when she just dropped it to the floor and moved her hands to her breasts. She lay back on the hard, cold floor and sucked in a ragged breath as Harriet's mouth closed over one of her breasts and her tongue flicked over her nipple, sending a little jolt of electricity coursing through her blood. One of Harriet's hands was splayed around her side possessively, but the other moved to her leg, smoothing over her thigh and curving into the warmest part of her leg, sliding up towards her hot core.

Catherine breathed deeply, her chest heaving in time with the crazy drum beat of her heart. Harriet's hand cupped her suddenly, and Catherine jolted, her hips lifting off the cold floor. Her hands raced to her hips, to pull off her underwear, and Harriet dipped down, her weight suddenly coming to rest on top of Catherine, the greying, worn material of her pink nightie scratching her naked flesh. Catherine could feel Harriet's breasts through her nightie, her own nipples hard, her heart beating madly. A moment later, Harriet had rolled off her and was frantically shedding her own clothing.

Catherine took the time to sit up and pull off her underwear. She threw them on top of her new, red chemise and returned her attention to Harriet, who was still having some trouble with her nightie. The blood on her arms had dried and Catherine felt the urge to crawl over to the other girl and grab her arm and pick the flakes of dried blood from it.

She quashed the urge and stood up, walking to Harriet's bed and laying down. She gazed up at the ceiling, for a long moment, before Harriet joined her, her hot breath on her face and a bubble of laughter tumbling from her chapped lips. Catherine squirmed about and got a more comfortable position underneath the other girl, meeting her eye without embarrassment, and Harriet smirked.

Annoyed, Catherine smirked back, until Harriet plunged two fingers into her mouth to wet them, then returned her hand to between the other's legs and plunged them inside without so much as a "Hold tight". Catherine gasped and her hips shot up, wanting more. Harriet grinned and started the rhythm, in, out, in, out, and Catherine's hands went to her back, clawing at her skin, pleading for more.

It was a while before Harriet removed her fingers and settled down on top of her, grinding, rocking, pushing against her, and Catherine opened her eyes and pulled Harriet back toward her, crushing her lips against hers, entangling her legs with hers.

.

A week later, when Harriet was sick in the Infirmary with the cold, Catherine didn't tell her that she'd written to James, or that he'd promised to sneak in and see her. And, when the day came, and James was really there, smiling at her, she promised herself that she'd never tell Harriet that she'd worn the red chemise she'd given her on her first night with James.

Being with James wasn't like being with Harriet, she discovered. The horrible, wrenching ache inside her just disappeared, when she was with James. Somehow, he managed to fill the emptiness inside her with something warm and solid and real, with something alive. And this was another thing she wouldn't tell Harriet: that she liked James's way of comforting her better, that James made her so much happier. She would never, ever tell Harriet that James had laughed when he'd first saw her in her red chemise, or that he'd pulled her close and purred into her ear, "You do realise that I have to have you now, sexy? That I'd probably die without you."

.

_1969_

Two weeks ago, she'd cursed the day she'd ever met James Elroy Parker. Two weeks ago, she'd swore to get on with her life, no matter what, but now, two weeks later, she could hardly even bring herself to get out of bed mornings. James was a liar; he'd lied to her. All the time he'd been saying "I love you", all the time she'd been believing him, he'd really been off shagging some other woman, telling her the same Goddamn lie. If not for their daughter, she'd have felt no remorse if he was to die tomorrow, but a child needed support and love, and, most of all, a child needed a mother and a father. Their daughter was the only reason she'd come up with, thus far, to convince herself to stay with the cheating, black-hearted bastard. Her little Angel. _Her_ Goddamn Angel, not his! Hers, because James had betrayed them both when he'd decided it would be okay to flaunt his marriage vows and see other women.

Now, two weeks later, as much as she loved her daughter, she couldn't manage to get through a single day without breaking down. She didn't know anyone else to call, so she called Sydney. Sydney had always been good at listening and she supposed that was what she needed right now, to speak her piece and have someone around to listen, to say they believed in her, they believed that she was strong and would pull through. She was sure that was what Sydney would tell her; he wasn't the type to interfere in other people's business, not really. She'd have to make her own choices, but he'd be around to stick by her, no matter what.

That was all she needed, she told herself, but it had been two weeks since she'd learnt the awful truth, and she'd only just now picked up the telephone and asked for help. How much longer would it take before she'd actually believe Sydney's words, before she wouldn't just smile and nod when he told her it would all be okay, and then spend the rest of her evening bawling her eyes out?

She didn't have to wait long for her answer, it turned out. No sooner had she plastered the smile to her face and walked to the door to greet Sydney, than she'd closed the door after him, suddenly convinced that she'd done the wrong thing - she just didn't share, not like that - had she sunk to her knees on the floor and started sobbing.

She'd been right about Sydney, though, because he was immediately there to put an arm around her back and spew out some nonsense consolation that she didn't even care for enough to listen to. She'd much rather have curled up in the corner in her bedroom, wallowing in self-pity and rage until the cows (or James, whoever was first) came home.

She hadn't been crying long when it occurred to her that Sydney really was a nice person, and that, as the old saying went, all was fair in love and war. If James wanted to play that game, then who was to say she couldn't play it right back! Of course, she wouldn't have ever thought of doing so, at least, not with Sydney, if he'd had someone, but he didn't, and probably never would have (as she'd heard it), so she decided to do them both a favour and, not even bothering to wipe her mucky, mascara-stained tears from her cheeks, she kissed him.

To her relief, he didn't confess that he was seeing someone, or that he didn't want to hurt her husband (whom he worked for). He told her that, in honesty, he'd been rather rotten company since his brother, Jacob, had passed away, and gave her the perfect excuse to reply back that she would soon see to that.

And she did.

.

_1970_

A month ago, she'd found out she was pregnant. She'd felt rather like killing herself on the spot, but she knew she'd never do it; she was a different person now. She was stronger now. Now that she knew she could be stronger, now that she had a reason to be stronger.

And then she'd found out that one of her reasons was a Goddamn liar, just like her husband, and she'd seriously reconsidered joining Morna in Hell.

It wasn't Sydney who finally told her about Michelle, though, but William. Well, he'd been the one to send her on her way, after all, so it was fair enough that he'd be the one who'd want to tell, who'd want to boast about his shitty behaviour as though he thought this might impress her, and further Sydney's misery when she dropped him like a hot potato. He'd seen them talking and had obviously assumed them to be good friends. Typically, he hadn't even stopped to consider that it might be anything more than friendship that they shared. His idiocy made Catherine want to slap him, but she always stopped herself just in the nick of time. He was an idiot, but he didn't know it; he thought he was the most wonderful thing to ever happen. That really got under Catherine's skin, but she didn't let it show, not even a little.

She had her reasons for chumming up to the prick. One reason was that she'd heard from one of James's old floosies that he was infertile. She'd gotten pregnant and he'd immediately jumped to correct her assumption that it was his, before promptly dropping her and moving on to the next skirt to come along. Catherine reasoned that seeing as they were such good chums, William might know a little something about how she'd gotten pregnant to a guy who was infertile. She didn't have any problem believing that he'd spill the beans; he constantly felt outdone by her husband and dearly would have loved to show him up at every available opportunity, if only it hadn't meant he'd also lose his job. This way, he'd be able to show him up without him knowing that he'd shown him up. It was perfect.

Or almost perfect.

She'd been so quick to label him an idiot that she'd overlooked the fact that he had a lot going for him, as idiots often did, when they followed the rules and didn't ask unnecessary questions. She'd never had any trouble believing him arrogant, but he also liked to play his little power games, it seemed, just to get back at everyone who treated him like he was a pawn in one of _their_ little games.

So she had to get creative, something she'd never had to do with Sydney. She'd never even had to tell Sydney what a cheating, lying bastard her husband was, and how cut up she was over the whole thing, for him to fall into her arms, but apparently that was exactly what William wanted to hear, as though he actually thought it might make him feel better about being such an asshole and a cheating bastard himself.

Well, that wasn't how it had started out. She hadn't meant to seduce him, just to befriend him. She'd meant to go with the whole "Sydney couldn't really be my friend and never have told me about Michelle" line, but she'd ended up going with Plan B, anyway. Mostly because, as much as it had been a bit of a laugh, William really hadn't gone for Plan A. Friendships didn't really mean a lot to him - in fact, they probably meant exactly zip - unless there was something to be gained from them, and he hadn't gaged there as anything worth gaining from a whiny, egomanical housewife's friendship.

At which point Catherine promptly remembered that he'd been the doctor who'd delivered her first-borns, and decided she might go from there. Make up some lie about how he seemed like a trustworthy guy, and all the rest.

She didn't tell him that she was pregnant, of course. Even when he got rough with her, she didn't bother to tell him then, either. She supposed she was as much an asshole as he was, and she was hoping the baby would die. At first, when she'd discovered that James couldn't father children, she'd thought the baby might be Sydney's, but she'd scrapped that idea fairly early on and decided that, no, it was just some sick plan of James's to breed some new whizbang super human. William was involved, too, and they knew she had the Anomaly, they just didn't think she knew anything about it. Which was really exactly why she had decided to get involved with William, in the first place: to fight back.

It wasn't for another month that she bothered telling William she was pregnant, to which he just looked at her blankly and shrugged, casually dropping a "Which has what to do with me, exactly, Cathy?"

"I'm not the type to play around, Billy," she'd replied, sitting down on the end of the bed next to him. "I think we both know there's only one person whose baby this could possibly be?"

Predictably, he'd laughed at that and stood up, stalking over to the window and opening it to let some air in, and to light a cigarette.

"You have nothing at all to say?" Catherine had come back with, walking to the window to stand behind him. "You don't care either way, if I get rid of her?"

He'd spun around then and grabbed her arm that quickly that she'd thought she must have dozed off, not to even have been able to take a couple of steps back. His grip was really quite tight and her arm wasn't liking it.

"Him!" he'd growled icily. "And you will not 'get rid of him'!"

"You're hurting me," she'd told him simply, making no move to question how he would know the sex of her unborn child, and that had seemed to be all he needed to _really_ hurt her.

.

After that, he pretended to be all ashamed and apologetic, and she pretended to buy his act. He told her he knew she'd been involved in some plan with Jacob, before he'd died, and that he could help her. He could help her complete the plan and run away, so that their baby would be safe. He didn't tell her what Sydney had come up to her a week earlier to tell her - the truth, that the baby was some sick pawn in one of their little games, just as she was - instead, he lied and said Angelo had told him about the baby, and that it would be a boy. As long as they were all lying to one another, she didn't see any reason to correct him. She'd only land herself in a whole heap of trouble she didn't want.

She did, however, decide to give Sydney a little something back, seeing as he'd been honest with her (in the end). So she sat down with him and told him about how his brother had really been a great guy, all in all, even though he'd gotten around stealing people's kids in the middle of the night, he'd really been a great guy, and he'd been trying to right that particular wrong when he'd met his unfortunate end.

They even hugged and there was a moment or two that she felt like an idiot for not having packed her things up, grabbed her daughter, and having run off with him, and to Hell with the rest of them, to Hell with the Plan. But then she'd felt like an even bigger jerk for thinking it, and the moment passed. Sydney never would have stayed with her; he'd always have gone back for Michelle, if she'd still been around to go back to, and even so, he'd always have lamented over her loss, so they'd never have truly been happy together, and she'd always have lamented over the loss of her morality.

Despite everything, she still hated to see a child in pain. It didn't help that she'd been a part of that pain, for her daughter, who hadn't even gotten the chance to know her twin, because she'd been such a wonderful bloody mother, because she'd been an idiot and believed James's lies when that was all they'd been, all along. Her Angel was probably just as much a guineapig as this new baby would be, poor thing.

She couldn't leave those kids to fend for themselves, she just couldn't.

In the end, the worst thing about the plan's undoing was that she'd not only let herself down, or those kids, but she'd let her babies down, too. She'd let her Angel down, and she'd let Ethan down. And she never really did find true love, or the answer to why someone who had seemed to be happy enough would kill themselves one night, for no apparent reason.

All she learnt was that she was a rotten judge of character, and that she was beyond useless at making plans.

Her one consolation was that, in the end, she hadn't been as big a user as William. She might have ruined a whole heck of a lot of people's lives, but he would go on ruining people's lives, including his own (the fucking fool), and that was really no consolation at all.

A week before her 'suicide', when James had been out of town on business (or so he'd said), she'd tried on outfits for some charity do she'd promises to attend. The housemaid hadn't been around anymore (not since she'd been fired), and that suited Catherine fine. Her daughter was asleep in bed, dreaming of happy times; everything was fine. She wasn't needed by anyone else. So she'd asked William around to help her pick out something to wear (she couldn't very well ask the housemaid).

She hadn't even had to ask for him to tell her that he'd told Edna that he'd had some business to finish up at work before tomorrow, lying was so easy for him, and he didn't even seem to find anything wrong with it. It often made her wonder if anything he'd ever told her was the truth, could possibly be the truth, but it didn't really matter, in the end, because she'd never trust a word he spoke, even if she wouldn't let on that she didn't. She hadn't really asked him around for his advice, that was a lie, one of her own devising, this time. And it was all part of the plan.

She'd tried on a couple of ensembles already, but when she came out in her latest, he shook his head and said, "No. No. Absolutely not. Get rid of it, it's hideous!"

She didn't even bother to ask why, before walking off to change into something else. She'd thought it quite nice, but she had asked for his opinion. She went for a dark blue evening gown and strutted back into the bedroom, smiling confidently. If he shot this one down too, she was going to smack him. She'd run out of options.

Luckily, it didn't come to that. He smiled back at her and said, "Now that's more like it. Get over here, you! How am I supposed to see you properly from all the way over there? You might as well be hideous, yourself, and I'd never know."

She merely smiled and joined him by the bed, and they went from there. "I promise you, I'm not."

He hadn't always been an ass, just mostly.

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**Disclaimer** I don't own _the Pretender_ or any of its characters.

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**Go on, write me something! I know I'd be seriously wondering what I'd ingested, if I were you. :) Thanks for reading, anyway.**

**Okay, I really just wanted to write something F/F, seeing as I don't think I've ever done so before, and I just couldn't see myself doing that to Mel, or anyone else, you know, so it had to be Catherine. Poor Cat, she always cops it. Now all I have left to do is to write a happy couple F/F. Um, okay, but since when do I ever write about happy couples? I **_**try**_**, but... Well, you know. It just doesn't work.**

**It's like I'm always writing about the worst possible thing that I could think to write about, and even though I'm like, "Hey, I like this pairing," I always still manage to murder it anyway. It's so weird. But anyway... Thanks for reading - or totally just ignoring - my little rant, here at the end. Flames are totally okay, too: "Cathy doesn't like **_**girls**_**? Uck! What were you thinking, you meanie? Anyway, who would be awesome enough for our Cat, if not one of our awesome boys? Hel-lo. I'm jus' sayin', ya know! Plus, you suck - ha ha! I dunno why yet, but I'll keep you posted as news comes in. (And don't you dare, dare send me a PM of all the reasons, I'm totally a top-notch investigator; I can figure these things out on my own, ta. So, prepare to be dazzled, or doomed, or whatever... Mwuh-ha-haaah!)"**


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